Rules of the Game

by Lori Wilde

  He shook his head back and forth. “It’s too late.”

  “That’s exactly why I have to leave.”

  “Shumble frazzle msshh.”

  “What?” She leaned over to peer closely into his face. The man was sound asleep. Should she wake him and tell him she was leaving? Or just slip out? Neither option seemed right. He needed his sleep, but she knew he would be unhappy if she just took off without saying good-bye.

  “Maura, no,” he begged in a somnolent voice. “Please don’t go.”

  Jodi froze. He was asleep and dreaming.

  Of Maura.

  She swallowed against the pain fisting in the center of her chest. He was dreaming of his dead wife. He wasn’t over Maura. No matter how much he claimed to be. Not by a long shot. Trying hard not to be hurt or jealous—the man couldn’t help what he dreamed about—she eased from the bed, searched for her clothes.

  Shades of Gwendolyn. She’d been here before. Naked. Vulnerable. Sneaking out after a mistake. Deja-dumb.

  She found her panties and bra—not exactly like before—slipped into her dress, and carrying her shoes, tiptoed for the door.

  “Jodi?”

  She cringed. Closed her eyes. She hadn’t made it. Forcing a smile, she turned to face him.

  Jake was sitting up in bed, sleepy-eyed and yawning.

  “Go back to sleep,” she murmured, her heart melting at the sight of him. She loved him so much!

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said.

  “In your sleep?”

  “I guess so.” His endearing smile sucked the air from her lungs, wrecked her. He stretched his arms over his head, his chest muscles flexing gloriously with his movements. “I woke up with the idea in my head.”

  “What’s the idea?”

  “I’ve decided to keep the house.”

  Every muscle in her body twitched simultaneously. “Why?”

  “I’m going to need a place to stay when I come back to East Texas to visit.” His smile was so hopeful. He had no idea he’d just stabbed her through the gut with it. He’d been dreaming of Maura and now he was backtracking on selling the house he’d shared with her. Not only that, but he was trying to convince her it was a good thing.

  “You can stay at the B&B,” she said, trying to ignore a strange tickling in the back of her throat. Was it thrill that he was dancing around their future as a couple, or mounting fear that he was holding on to the house because he wasn’t really ready to let go of Maura … and his guilt?

  “You know I love your family, but we’d never get any privacy there,” he said lightly, but underneath she heard a darker tone. A tone that said, I’m scared. This is moving too fast. I’m not sure I’m ready for you after all.

  “Um … okay.” She bobbed her head idiotically, as if she didn’t care whether he sold the house or not.

  Tell him, whispered the steely part of her that had been brave enough to crash a celebrity wedding and turn a botched wedding reception into a charity event. Tell him that by holding on to the house it makes you feel as if he’s holding on to Maura.

  But she had no right to tell him what to do with his house. They weren’t a couple. Not officially. He hadn’t told her he loved her, nor had she been able to say it to him. Being the first one to say it made her too vulnerable.

  Like you’re not vulnerable now?

  “I really do have to go,” she said. “I have to be up before dawn and so do you.”

  “I don’t like you driving back alone at one in the morning.” He threw back the covers, got to his feet, pulled on his slacks, not bothering with underwear. “I’ll follow you.”

  “No. That’s silly. If you follow me you won’t get back into bed until after two. I’ll be fine.”

  He gave an alpha man growl, sternly shook his head.

  “Jake, I drive at night all the time. I’m an independent woman. I have a cell phone and pepper spray. I’m not going to let you make me feel like I’m incapable of taking care of myself.”

  He was stood there bare-footed and bare-chested, looking like the answer to a prayer she’d not even thought to pray. “That’s not the point, Jodi. You don’t know who or what lurks out there in the dark.”

  For a moment, his eyes looked haunted and she knew he was thinking about Maura, who’d gone out alone at night and never come home.

  “This isn’t Chicago.” She sank her hands on her hip. “And I’m not your wife.”

  “No,” he murmured in a disappointed tone. “You’re not.”

  For a fraction of a second, her heart stopped beating as if her chest had caved in. “I gotta go,” she said, without meeting his gaze.

  She grabbed her purse and got out of there as fast as she could.

  Jake waited all of two minutes before he followed Jodi. He’d be damned if he’d let her drive that stretch of empty highway between Jefferson and Stardust alone in the wee morning hours.

  After he and Jodi had made love, he had drifted off into a vivid dream where Maura came to him.

  “She loves you, Jake,” Maura said. “You could build a good life with her, but there’s something you must do first.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Let go. Of me. Of the baby we never had. Of your guilt.”

  “But I failed you so badly.”

  “You didn’t, but I forgive you if that’s what you need.”

  “Tell me how to do it,” he begged her.

  “Just love her, Jake. Love her like you loved me. With all your heart and soul. Love until your love for her crowds out everything bad that happened in the past. Love her beyond all limits and then love her some more.”

  Love.

  The word echoed through his brain, the sound resonating like a tuning fork, sending golden vibrations steeping every cell in his body.

  Love.

  “Jodi needs you and you need her. Don’t grieve for me and the baby any longer,” Maura said. “We’re safe now and happy. We want you to be happy too.”

  Maura was growing fainter, her face disappearing into a swirling mist.

  “No,” he said. “No, don’t go.” There was so much more he wanted to ask her. “It’s too late,” he murmured. It was too late for him and Maura, but not for him and Jodi. “No, Maura, please don’t go.” Not yet.

  “Let go,” Maura whispered. “Love.”

  A sensation unlike anything he’d ever felt before rushed over him. Peace. Tranquillity. Acceptance. His muscles relaxed as a gentle heat warmed his body. His eyes opened.

  And that’s when he saw Jodi sneaking out of the bedroom.

  Jodi. His love.

  Driving the lonely road, but not alone. He was driving it with her whether she knew it or not.

  When he found her taillights in the darkness, his anxiety settled. He stayed as far behind her as he could without losing sight of her. He didn’t want her to know he was following her. She was a tough cookie. His Jodi.

  He’d upset her, but he wasn’t quite sure why. He had dumped a lot of information on her tonight about Maura and the baby, and no doubt, she needed time and space to process it.

  That’s what he told himself anyway. But part of him was damn scared that he’d done something to ruin the good thing they were working on. Like the doofus guy he was, he’d unwittingly lumbered onto her hot button—independence. That need of hers to be in control.

  And it hurt when she’d poked him that sharp barb and barked out, “I’m not your wife.”

  No. Not yet. But he wanted her to be.

  He might have mucked everything up telling her about Maura and the baby the way he had. Maybe she was afraid he still didn’t want kids. Or maybe—crap, why hadn’t he thought about this before he opened his big mouth?—she didn’t want kids.

  Getting way ahead of yourself, Coronado. It could be she’s afraid you’ve gone and fallen in love with her and she doesn’t feel the same way about you.

  That thought hit him like a wild foul ball upside the head.

  She kep
t telling you she wanted to keep things casual, but you had to keep pushing for more, didn’t you?

  As Jodi’s car drove past the Stardust city limits sign, Jake did a U-turn and headed back to Jefferson.

  On the drive back to Stardust, emotions smashed into Jodi—hurt, fear, sadness, alarm, anger. Yes, anger. Not at Jake, but at herself. She was angry with herself for letting this happen.

  But she refused to wallow in pity. She was not going to feel sorry for herself. She’d made a mistake. She’d let herself love again after she’d sworn to keep things casual. This hurt so much more than Ryan, whose betrayal had caused humiliation and exposed the crumbling facade of their relationship.

  But this …

  This was a shattered heart, sheer and sharp, brittle and broken.

  No matter how much he claimed to be over Maura, Jake was still in love with his dead wife.

  “Dumb, dumb, dumb,” she muttered. “You knew better and you let yourself fall for him anyway.”

  It’s better to have loved and lost …

  People had said that to her after Ryan. She’d thought it was stupid. How could it be better to love and be hurt than to never have lost and never been hurt?

  But now?

  Now she understood the truth of it. Understood because this was the first time she had really, truly loved a man with an open heart.

  Until Jake, she had not known what true love was. Ryan had gone through all the right motions. Said and done the things that people in love were supposed to do, but he’d never meant them. And some part of her had known that because she’d never allowed herself to fully let go. She’d held back, and when he’d left her at the altar, part of her had secretly been relieved.

  This was so different.

  This was aching and bittersweet and wretched. Because it was better to have loved Jake and let him go than to never have had the honor of falling in love with him in the first place. Better to play second fiddle to his ill-fated bride, and become the instrument of his healing, than to never have known him.

  Loving Jake was worth the price, worth the pain, even though she was not going to be able to stay with him. How could she when he could not love her as much as he loved his dead wife? She loved him enough to let him go. And from the things he’d taught her, from the opening of her heart, maybe one day she would find love again with a man who could love her without reservations.

  In the meantime, she was the maid of honor and she was not going to ruin Breeanne and Rowdy’s day with her personal drama. Later, when the wedding was over, she’d break up with Jake.

  And her heart? What was she going to do about that?

  Jodi raised her chin against the cold February wind as she got out of her car at the B&B. To take a page from Scarlett O’Hara, she’d worry about that tomorrow.

  Jake didn’t sleep, his thoughts going around in circles, trying to figure out when and where things had jumped the track. He finally got out of bed at five a.m. and knowing Jodi would be awake, he texted her.

  GOOD MORNING. HOW DID U SLEEP?

  She didn’t answer.

  “Busy,” he told himself, and tried not to overthink it. He took a shower, got dressed, ate a bowl of cereal—not Cheerios, he’d banned them from the house—and texted her again.

  GWENDOLYN, U OK?

  She didn’t reply to that one either.

  He loaded his tuxedo in the car, made sure he had Breeanne’s wedding band to give to Rowdy. Then he tried calling Jodi, but it went to voice mail.

  No response.

  He tried not to freak out. Why wasn’t she returning his calls or text messages? Maybe her phone was off. Reliable Jodi turning her phone off on Breeanne’s wedding day? Hardly.

  He got scared then. He’d left her at the city limits last night. What if something had happened to her between there and the B&B?

  It was still way too early to head to Stardust, but he went anyway, determined to see Jodi before she got submerged in the details of the wedding. He parked outside her boxcar, next to her sedan. Knocked on the door of her boxcar.

  She didn’t answer.

  Maybe she was in the shower.

  He whipped his cell phone from his pocket and called her again. It rang and rang and rang and finally went to voice mail once more. Perturbed, he hung up. What if something had happened to her? What if she’d fallen getting out of the shower and hit her head? What if she lay bleeding on the floor? What if …

  Screw that.

  Jake tried the door of her boxcar. It wasn’t locked and the door swung inward. He stepped inside, fear raising the hairs on the back of his neck. “Jodi!”

  No answer.

  He lumbered through the boxcar. “Jodi!”

  “What is it?”

  He whirled to find her standing in the doorway, dressed in a white terry-cloth robe, hair wet, a blow dryer in her hand, looking peeved.

  Relief spilled through him, drew his shoulders into a sag. She was all right. Thank God. It was all he could do not to sprint across the room and pull her into his arms. “Hi.”

  “What are you doing here?” Her voice was cold, brittle.

  “You didn’t call me back. Didn’t answer my texts. I was worried.”

  “I’m off schedule. I don’t have time for you right now. Breeanne comes first.”

  “I know. I just …” He whipped out a grin, hoping to coax her into a smile. He felt like he’d missed something important. As if he’d walked into a theater during the middle of a movie, and had no idea what was taking place on screen.

  She didn’t smile back.

  He upped the wattage, but it didn’t sway her. What had he done wrong? Had he texted and called too much? Was he coming across as too needy? Shit. Okay. She needed space. And she was right. The wedding was upon them. Why was he pressuring her? He was acting like a lovesick teenager.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he mumbled.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure? You seem—”

  She scowled, but he could have sworn her bottom lip was trembling. Something was wrong and it wasn’t just the stress of the wedding. “I’m not at your beck and call, Jake.”

  “I know. I know.” He bobbed his head, wishing like hell he hadn’t panicked and come charging over here. “You’re okay.”

  “Fine.” Her tone so clipped he could have used it to give himself a haircut.

  Staying here wouldn’t help things. This wasn’t the time to press her for answers.

  Space. He had to get out of here. Give her space.

  “So we’re good?” He rested his hand on the door frame above her head.

  Her mouth tightened. “Jake, I’ve got a lot to do …”

  “Right. Right.”

  She hadn’t answered his question, hadn’t reassured him. Hadn’t said, We’re good.

  She’d just stood there looking at him.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you at the wedding.” He tried a smile, but neither one of them bought it.

  “Yes,” she said. “See you at the wedding.” That was what she said, but what he heard was, We’re in trouble.

  Just before four p.m., Jodi stood in the church vestibule with the rest of the bridal party, waiting for the wedding procession to start. This was going to be the hardest part of the day. Walking down the aisle on Jake’s arm.

  The groomsmen, Jake, Talbot, Warwick, and Rowdy’s younger brother Zach, were still seating a few remaining guests before bringing Rowdy’s mother and Maggie to the front of the church. Dan was prowling about, hands stuffed in his pockets. Jodi walked over to touch her father’s shoulder. “Dad, it’s going to be fine. Rowdy’s a great guy and he and Breeanne love each other so much.”

  “I know, I know.” Her father bobbed his head. “I just keep having flashbacks to you and last year—”

  “That’s not going to happen.” She kissed his cheek. “Everything is going to be okay. Breeanne needs you.”

  “Right. Got it. Thanks, honey.” He hugged her. “Did
I ever tell you that adopting you was one of the four best things your mother and I ever did?”

  “You have, Dad. Many times.”

  “I love you,” he said. “So much.”

  “I know that too, Dad.” Tears misted her eyes. She looked up. “Don’t make me cry, it’ll smear my mascara.”

  The procession music started. She turned back to join the group while her father went to get Breeanne.

  And there was Jake, looking at her with hot eyes.

  She dropped her gaze, clutched her bouquet of red, white, and pink roses to her chest. God, please let me get through this without breaking down.

  She loved him so much, but she deserved a man who loved her for who she was, not as a replacement for the woman he’d lost.

  He squeezed her arm, kept his face turned forward, but whispered from the side of his mouth, “You okay?”

  “Focus,” she said. “Today is all about Breeanne.”

  “Not in my world.”

  “Maybe not, but she is in mine.”

  “We need to talk, Jodi.”

  “Shh. This is not the time,” she mumbled.

  The smell of roses filled her nose, but the fragrance of her perfume overrode it. Lavender and vanilla. So much for tricky brains and self-fulfilling prophecies. It didn’t mean a thing.

  “What did I do wrong?”

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That was the sorrow of it.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  She didn’t answer. She wasn’t mad. Not at him anyway. She was mad at herself for giving in when she feared from the beginning that this relationship was going to go sideways. She was mad at herself for being weak and giving in.

  But she wasn’t mad at herself for loving him. How could she not love him? He’d taught her so much about herself. He’d been there for her. Held her hand when she told him about her messed-up childhood. He’d made love to her, sweet and tender. He’d danced with her. He’d crashed weddings and walls with her and he’d done it all perfectly.

  For the love of another woman.

  When she reached the altar she told herself she was not going to look at him—how many times had she told herself she wasn’t going to do something in regard to him and done it anyway?

  Don’t meet his gaze. Don’t do it. She glanced up, peeped over the bouquet in her hand, saw his handsome face looking utterly confused.